


of tombstones and (wrestling) rings

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy and Clarke are dorks, Crack, F/M, Fluff and Humor, They don't wrestle they just love wwe, Wrestling, and to a bizarre degree, bellamy is insecure and Clarke loves him, clarke is weirs, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: bellamy has a burning question, and Clarke has some weird requests.He'd been carrying the ring around ever since Murphy pressed it into his hand out of paranoia, and had forgotten he'd stuffed the damn thing back in his jean pocket. So when Clarke climbed onto his lap during a particularly long commercial break and pulled away mid kiss to raise a brow at him and ask, "You're really that happy Ziggler won the match?" He knew exactly what she was feeling.And it was sure as fuck wasn't his dick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> .... I don't really have an explanation other than a conversation a friend and I had a few weeks ago that has stuck with me.

Every Monday night since Clarke was seven, her dad took her to the Blakes house for Monday Night Raw. It was the one night a week Clarke was allowed to stay up past her bed time. And then as she grew, it turned into the one week night she stayed the night with Octavia. And then when she was fourteen, Octavia turned into Octavia and Bellamy. 

And then, when she hit the ripe old age of twenty two, it was just Clarke and Bellamy most Monday nights as Octavia moved across the country for college. At first it was Clarke keeping the tradition alive to distract Bellamy from the loneliness and sulking, but then after a few months, a couple dozen boxes and a shiny new key, It was just two roommates hanging out, watching wrestling and living their lives. 

Until Clarke turned twenty three and they realized their feelings were more than platonic on both sides, and next thing either of them knew, Monday Night Raw turned into a new kind of wrestling ritual that didn't involve the tv all that much. Or at all. Unless their friends came over - which, at some point over the course of the year, turned into its own sort of ritual. 

Every year the group got together, enjoyed Wrestlemania, and hedged bets on how long it'd take Bellamy and Clarke to disappear. (Usually it happened during the tag team matches - unless a personal favorite was involved.) 

Bellamy and Clark were the dream team. It was true, if they were wrestlers, they'd go in as a tag team and under the name Dream Team. 

And they'd talked about it in the past - not wrestling, something much more important, on a deeper level - never all that seriously, but they'd been together for nearly four years so it was bound to come up. Bellamy was all heart, Clarke was all mind so it never came up as more than a passing conversation. But Bellamys heart controlled every one of his decisions, so when he walked into the pawn shop for the special first edition of one of his favorite historical books and saw the ring in the glass case that practically screamed Clarkes name, he forgot about the book and dropped two weeks worth of pay checks on it right then and there, stuffed it into a flimsy velvet box and delicately put it in his jacket pocket. His hand stayed in that pocket the entire walk home, just to ensure he didn't lose it. 

And then he came up with a plan. Clarke was always borrowing his clothes, so he couldn't hide it in their room. Or the bathroom, or anywhere obvious. So he hid it in the one place he knew Clarke wouldn't dare look: 

Murphys room. And considering Murphy spent most nights with his girlfriend, he didn't think he'd have to worry about anyone stumbling upon it. Especially at the bottom of Murphys sock drawer. 

But then Monday Night came around, and everyone swarmed the house waiting for Raw to come on. And Murphy appeared with Emori at his side and they disappeared into his room. And at first, Bellamy didn't think anything of it, but when they emerged and Emori made a beeline for him and Murphy lifted his hand in the air and the light caught something shiny in his hand, Bellamys heart fucking stopped. 

Because he had meant to talk to her. He'd had the ring for a couple months, sure, but they talk about so much he couldn't find the time to actually breach the subject of marriage. 

He stood of slowly and Emori smirked at him, cocking her hip to the side. "We honestly thought you'd have asked by now." 

"What?" 

"We found it two months ago, dropped it back in the drawer and let it go." 

"But -," 

Murphy suddenly appeared next to them and grabbed Bellamys hand, shoving the box into his hand. "Dude, just ask her. It's not like she'll say no." 

Bellamys eyes darted around the room as he fumbled with the box and shoved it into his pocket. "This is none of your business!" He whispered, glaring at both of them. "Leave it alone. We haven't even talked about -," 

Murphy scoffed. "Yeah, okay." He looked at Emori and the two rolled their eyes before turning around and lurking off to some other part of the house and torture some other innocent bystander. 

Raven raised an eyebrow, and nodded at the bulge in his pocket. "Really?" 

He sighed and plopped back down on the couch. "Yeah." 

"You should ask her." 

"I will... just. Not yet." 

Raven shrugged, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder as she got comfortable on the couch. He whirled a brow and she grinned. "I'm getting comfy. Shut up." They watched the stupid TNT show that airs before Raw in silence for a few moments before Raven said, "She'll say yes." 

Bellamy didn't reply. And the rest of the night went off without a hitch. 

Smackdown Live was a new investment in their lives, that they reserved solely for the two of them. Mostly because some of Bellamys favorite wrestlers got switched over to the blue brand, and completely fucked over their cheering routines on Monday nights, so Clarke in all her merciful glory made the executive decision to add Tuesdays in their schedule. Bellamy knew it was because she got sick of him sulking about how all her favorite wrestlers got to kick ass while his were left standing in the dirt, but he chose to believe it was because she just loved wrestling that much. 

Even if it was just a sport soap opera. 

Unlike Monday night, Tuesday night did not end so well. 

He'd been carrying the ring around ever since Murphy pressed it into his hand out of paranoia, and had forgotten he'd stuffed the damn thing back in his jean pocket. So when Clarke climbed onto his lap during a particularly long commercial break and pulled away mid kiss to raise a brow at him and ask, "You're really that happy Ziggler won the match?" He knew exactly what she was feeling. 

And it was sure as fuck wasn't his dick. 

"I -," 

She laughed and leaned forward to press a kiss against his jaw, "Or did you just miss me?" 

It would've been fine if this had been the only thing today, he could have come up with an excuse without even a second though. But Murphy had a big mouth, and all of their friends had been texting him all day telling him to ask her, and his heart was tight in his chest. 

So, he hesitated, and she pulled away again. "What's wrong?" She sat back, teetering on his knees while her hands lay in between them. "You're acting weird, Bel." 

He spluttered. "What - no, I. I'm not." He silently vowed to kill all his friends because this conversation was happening and she was going to say no because he bought a ring before talking to her about all of this and they'd break up and she'd hate him for all of eternity. And look, Bellamy wasn't great under pressure. Hell, he wasn't even good under pressure. He burst like a fucking kernel and carefully moved her off his lap so she was kneeling on the couch next to him. "Okay," he muttered, "maybe I am." 

"I know you are. You're a terrible liar." She reached forward and ran her hand through his hair, letting it linger at the curls at the base of his skull, while her thumb stroked the side of his jaw. "What's wrong?" 

"It's not that something's wrong," he started, swallowing thickly and turning to face her. "I just - I have to ask you something, and we haven't really discussed this so I'm a little scared you're going to run away."

She tilted her head before pulling her hands into her lap and nodding softly. "Okay. Go on."

"Swear not to kill me?" 

She smiled and lifted her right hand, pinky out. "Need me to pinky swear on it?" 

He laughed and linked his with hers and bringing their hands up to his lips, kissed her pinky finger. "No, but I appreciate the corniness." 

"Coming from captain dork, over here." He laughed, moving his hand around until their fingers were laced together. She watched him for a moment before sighing and squeezing his hand. "Come on, Bel. Out with it." 

He took a deep, shuddering breath and asked, almost too quiet for Clarke to hear, "will you marry me?"

And for a long moment, he held his breath waiting for an answer. He could feel her eyes watching him, but he stared intently down at where there hands were linked willing the image to get stuck in his head so when she ripped her hand away and ran off he would at least have had that much. 

But then, she sighed, long and loud and said, "Well," sounding thoughtful, "I don't want to get married but..." He furrowed his brow and looked up at her. He'd known she'd say no, but Jesus if it didn't still hurt. "I do have an idea for the wedding night. So I'll marry you on one condition."

Wait. What? His mouth opened and closed a few times before he nodded slowly and gulped. This wasn't going at all how he'd expected. Then again, this was Clarke and she'd never been the predictable type. "What condition?" He asked, throat dry. 

"You know the undertaker?" 

Obviously. “Wrestler Undertaker?" She nodded. "I mean, yeah. Obviously." 

“Great." She grinned, "So on honeymoon night -,” 

Oh god, she was going to ask him to figure out how to get The Undertaker, the most legendary wrestler of all time, to officiate their wedding, wasn't she? “I really don’t think the undertaker would -,” 

She quirked and eyebrow at him and shook her head, raising a free hand to point at him. “Shut up and listen.” 

“Okay.”

“Right so on honeymoon night. I want a couple of things.” 

What the hell could she possibly want that involved the Undertaker? "What?” 

“A fog machine. A really long hallway. An exact replica of the Undertakers jacket. A gong. Annnnnd. . . if at all possible, some druid monks outside chanting.” She listed the items off one at a time, ticking them off with her fingers like she'd thought about it for a long time. 

Jesus Christ she was going to turn their wedding night into Monday night raw and murder him Undertaker style. 

"Are you planning to tombstone me on our wedding night?” 

“What? No." She shook her head and side eyed him for a moment before sitting up on her knees and smiling at him, "I just really want to have my own wrestlemania style Undertaker entrance, and it’d be super cool to do it on my wedding night. You could be there watching me take my sweet ass time walking down the hallway.” 

“While a gong goes off -,” She made a face, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head, stopping him mid sentence. 

"Well, you’ll probably have to do the gong bits.” 

“. . . While I hit a gong, and some druid monks are chanting outside?” 

She grinned wide and excited. "Don’t forget the fog.” 

"Right, the fog. So, While I hit a gong, some Druid monks are chanting outside and we incrue hundreds of dollars in fog machine damage. You'll take your sweet time walking down the hallway." 

“ . . . Sounds about right.” She nodded, lips upturned as she smirked. 

All he could do was stare. 

She tilted her head again. "Well?” 

“I . . .” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know where the fuck I’m going to find monks who would even think about doing this.” 

Her eyes widened a fraction and her smile fell just a bit before she said, "That’s your only rejection.”

“Yes." He furrowed his brow as the smile worked its way back across her face, all mischievous and dangerous. "Why are you smiling?” 

“Ask me again.” 

“Why are you smiling?”

She pulled her hand away from him and narrowed her eyes. "Not that!”

“Where will we find monks -,

“Not that either, idiot.” She crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. 

“Wh - oh! Will you marry me? . . . Thats the question you meant, right?” At this point, he had no idea what was happening any more.

“Yes.” 

Just as he was about to grin, he stopped, "Wait, which thing are you saying yes to?” 

“Both.” 

“Cool," he murmured, licking his lips. "Cool.” 

“You okay?” She asked after a few moments. 

“i just can’t believe I’m marrying a girl who’s only wedding request is to have an undertaker entrance into the honeymoon room on our wedding night.” 

“Don’t worry," she shrugged, "I won’t be wearing anything under the jacket.” 

“ . . .I’m never going to look at the undertaker the same way again.” 

“Good thing he’s retired, then." 

He frowned, flopping back against the couch and sighing. "Damn he is, isn't he? I’m fucking old.”

“So is he.” She laughed, curling up against his side. Bellamy turned and looked at her for a moment, the smallest smile directed at her. She wrinkled her nose, "What?”

“I love you.”

"Obviously." 

He laughed and they sat there, vaguely watching two new wrestlers on the screen before it clicked in his head why this whole conversation had even happened. "Fuck!" He jumped up, chuckled as Clarke fell face first into the cushions with a soft plop. 

"Uh," She muttered, muffled by the cushions as she pushed herself back up and looked at him incredulously. "We just got engaged and you -," 

He knelt down on one knee and grinned at her, wide and cheeky. "So I bought a ring." She raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue. He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and reaching into pockets and nearly jamming his finger on the box. "I saw it a few months ago," he murmured as he pulled the small, navy blue box out and held it out between the two of them. "When I went to go get the first edition -," 

"The one theyd sold just before you got there." 

He wobbled his head for a bit as he opened the box, staring very intently at the soft velvet. "I may have lied about that," he murmured. He'd expected at least an indignant squeak from her about the lying, but she remained silent, so he looked up. 

"You bought a ring," she finally murmured, her gaze flipping between the ring and his face. 

"Yeah." 

"You've been thinking about this for a while." 

"Well, yeah. Who wouldn't want to marry you?" 

She stared at him then, for a long moment before shoving herself off the couch and crashing into him with a bruising kiss. 

 

Six months later, Raven, Murphy, Emori, Miller and all the rest of their friends attempted to chant like the Undertakers monks as Bellamy and Clarke crowded into the car that would take them to their hotel.


End file.
